


The Most Brilliant Trick-or-Treater in the Universe

by LizzyLovegood



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Babies, F/M, Family Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Halloween, Kid Fic, Pete's World, Trick or Treating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 14:34:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3071699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizzyLovegood/pseuds/LizzyLovegood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose and the Doctor discuss their son's first Halloween.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Most Brilliant Trick-or-Treater in the Universe

**Author's Note:**

> Partially inspired by a portion of David Tennant's interview on Letterman where he talked about having to perform for Halloween candy as a child in Scotland.
> 
> This was originally posted on FF on 11/8/14 under Lizzy Lovegood

“I’m telling you, Rose, he’s a prodigy.” Emptying the pumpkin-shaped bucket onto the kitchen table, the Doctor began sifting through the bright wrappers. “Our son is a prodigy.”

Rose smiled fondly at her husband. Announcements of their son’s brilliance at anything and everything had become a daily occurrence since the date of her first ultrasound ( _just look at those little fingers, Rose,_ he’d whispered, awestruck, _have you ever seen a baby with such perfect fingers?_ ).

“You guys had a good time, then?”

“Oh, a fantastic time,” the Doctor enthused. “Lived it up, James and I did. Frank and Eve said he was the cutest thing they’d ever seen. And John and Alice. _And_ Jeanne and Richard.” All but bursting with paternal pride, he tipped his head scornfully toward the half-open window from where the shouts and squeals of sugar-crazed, and far less brilliant children, could be heard. “None of those other muppets even stood a chance.”

“Sorry I couldn’t be there.” She’d planned to be, had asked for the day off months in advance, but had been called in to work at the last minute to deal with the Skellingtons, a group of skeletal aliens incensed over their annual portrayal as monsters, and ready to blow Earth off the map because of it. It had taken all of Rose’s considerable persuasive skills to convince them that doing such a thing would make them the monsters everyone thought them to be, but by the time she had done so James had been fast asleep and the Doctor had been dozing off at the table, two cups of tea in front of him - one empty and the other long gone cold.

The Doctor wrapped an arm around her waist, resting his head on her shoulder. “You will be next year,” he reminded her gently.

Rose shrugged, blinking back the stinging behind her eyes. “For his second Halloween, not his first.”

It was stupid for her to be this upset. The Doctor had promised to take pictures and he had kept his word; she had had to silence her phone to stop it from vibrating every two seconds with picture after picture of James: crawling on the floor in his wolf cub costume, face twisted up in what Rose assumed was a growl as the Doctor coached him from out of frame, perched in his father’s arms and grinning gummily at the camera, being plied with goodies by his grandmother, his Torchwood aunts and uncles, even his nine-year-old uncle Tony. She had shown this last one to her dad, also stuck with her for the night, and they had laughed as Tony held pieces of candy corn over James’s head in his attempts to get him to look at the camera, all in vain as it turned out.

“The kid has good taste,” Pete had joked. “Nasty stuff, candy corn.”

He had wished her a good night when they finally left and given her a few sweets to take home to James and the Doctor. He had handled it fine, being separated from his kid for the holiday. Why couldn’t she?

“Rose.” The Doctor sighed, pressing a kiss to the hollow of her neck. “Rose, he probably won’t even remember this.”

Rose scoffed. “He’s our brilliant, genius son. Of course he’ll remember it.”

“Well,” the Doctor hummed, conceding her point, “then I’m sure he will also remember how upset his mummy was to leave him.”

“You think?”

“I _know_ ,” the Doctor corrected. Slipping his hand from her waist to the small of her back, he led her to the head of the table and, taking a seat, pulled her down into his lap. Rose burrowed her head into his shoulder, letting the worries of the day wash away as she breathed in his scent, so perfectly mixed with James’.

“Besides,” the Doctor continued, rubbing her back “his coordination will be even more advanced next year. We can choreograph a much better routine.”

“Routine?” Rose laughed. “What routine? Did you two make an algorithm to figure out which houses would have the most candy or something?”

“Didn’t need to,” the Doctor bragged, “not with the performance James and I gave. The neighbors were like putty in our hands, probably would’ve given us the kitchen sink if we’d asked. Cutest thing they’d ever seen, they said. _Ever_ seen,” he repeated with a sharp nod.

“When you say performance,” Rose asked, “you just mean ringing the bell and saying _trick-or-treat_ , right?”

“What, like the rest of those underachievers?” The Doctor wrinkled his nose. “Couldn’t even be bothered to do that, some of them, never mind learn a few simple dance steps. No. Not our son, Rose.”

“Dance steps?”

She had no reason to be jealous, Rose reminded herself. Just because she hadn’t noticed James’ budding interest in ballet and the Doctor had didn’t make him a bad person for cultivating it. If she didn’t work such long hours, maybe she would have noticed it, too.

“Just a few,” the Doctor assured her. “Nothing too complicated, I’m not about to put him through the Viennese waltz before his second birthday. He just kind of . . . swayed a bit, like this,” the Doctor rocked back and forth in the chair, “and I hummed.” He did so. “Then I picked him up and spun him around and when I put him down he did jazz hands. Then we both said trick-or-treat. Jeanne and Richard _loved_ it. Did I tell you that?”

“Yeah,” said Rose. “But Doctor. . . .”

“I’ve been coaching him on the jazz hands for weeks now and I wasn’t sure if he’d be able to or if he’d get stage fright. But he did and - he was amazing, Rose. Our son is an absolute _genius_.”

“Doctor. . . .”

“I’m thinking next year, if we can get James to be a wolf cub again, you can be Little Red Riding Hood and I can be the woodcutter. Maybe do a little pantomime? Oh! And we can bring Jackie along as the grandmother! Since the Botox, her eyes have been all poppy-outty - you know, _what big eyes you have_ and all that. Ooh, this is gonna be _brilliant_ , we’ll really knock their socks off next year.”

“Doctor!” It came out less amused and more exasperated than she’d intended and the Doctor’s eyes grew comically wide.

“What?” He tipped his head to one side, looking concerned, and so much like a lost puppy, that Rose had to laugh. Framing his face with her hands and forestalling any further interrogation with a soft shushing noise, Rose leaned in to press her forehead against his.

“Doctor,” she said gently. “You are a wonderful father.” The muscles in his cheeks shifted as he smiled and he made a soft noise of contentment, wrapping his arms tighter around her.

“And you are a wonderful mother,” he confirmed, brushing a kiss over her lips. “And you do not, I repeat do _not_ , have to worry about missing this one day. There will be plenty of other days. Plenty of other Halloweens, even. I promise you, Rose,” he took one of her hands in his own, squeezing lightly, “there will be plenty more opportunities for synchronized dance routines.”

“I think we can manage a few more,” she agreed. “He’ll eventually just want the candy, though, never mind how adorable mummy and daddy think it is.”

The Doctor waved an airy hand. “Nah, he’s Gallifreyan. Well, a quarter Gallifreyan. Plus, he’s a Tyler. It’s in his blood. When I was his age, I was solving spatial equations for a stick of gum. Knows he has to work for his Halloween candy, our son does. ” He looked so earnest that Rose couldn’t bring herself to contradict him.

“Time Lords celebrate Halloween?” she asked instead.

“Of course we do.” The Doctor raised an eyebrow, looking almost affronted that she didn’t know. “You think you’re the only race to come up with the idea of dressing up as someone else for the day?”

“Didn’t think about it, I guess.” Rose shrugged. “You lot had the whole arrogant, masters of time thing going for you, so. . . .”

“Not all of us,” the Doctor reminded her, nudging her nose with his. “I, for one, looked forward to it every year. It was my favorite holiday as a kid.”

“Really?”

As a full-Time Lord, it had been all but impossible to get anything out of the Doctor about his past; the only remarks he made would come in short, cryptic statements, in between pressing kisses to her sweat-sheened skin, murmuring in his lyrical language that the TARDIS refused to translate. Her new Doctor - not so new now, but it was hard to kick the habit - was, if not open, at least more revealing. He would let little things slip, the name of an old companion or the habits of a past incarnation, though he had regretted it when Rose teased him for a week over his choice of clothing in his fifth body. Regardless, these small glimpses were something she treasured, as proof that he did value their short forever together.

“Yep.” The Doctor popped the _p_ , grinning broadly. “Top of the class, me, so when it came time for going door-to-door . . . well, they don’t call me the Time Lord Victorious for nothing. I was halfway down the block before they’d even solved for _x_. Ha!

“‘Course I won’t expect James to do that,” he added, catching sight of Rose’s panicked expression. “I know maths isn’t exactly humans’ cup of tea when it comes to entertainment. And if James is anything like his _lovely_ mother, he’s going to need all the help he can get.”

“Oi! I’m not that bad!”

“You used a calculator to add four and two the other day.”

Rose stuck her tongue out at him, poking him in the ribs. She grinned at his indignant squeak. “I hadn’t had my cuppa yet, had I? Anyway, I thought James was brilliant at everything.”

“Oh, he is - he is! He just needs a bit of a - a helping hand is all.”

“From his dashing father?”

“From his _incredibly_ dashing father who is not planning on letting him near a calculator till he’s twenty. Give it a few years and he’ll be doing trigonometry in his spare time. He’ll be the cutest and the most brilliant thing John and Alice have ever seen. And Frank and Eve. And - well, the whole of Britain really. No, the whole world. The whole _universe_!”

“Let’s just stick with the song-and-dance for now, yeah?” Rose patted his arm. “Looks like you got a pretty good haul. How far did you . . . hang on, are these full-size candy bars? Who’s been giving out full-size candy bars? No one ever gave these out when I was a kid.”

“I told you, Rose, we were brilliant.” The Doctor’s chest puffed up with pride. “The neighbors must’ve been so impressed they dipped into their private stash.”

“I think the other universe was holding out on me.” Rose tore open the foil of a Snickers bar with her teeth and took a bite, groaning in ecstasy and smirking as the Doctor’s eyes widened. “Bite?” she offered, licking her lips free of chocolate.

“N-no,” the Doctor gasped, groaning as Rose ground down onto him. “No, thank you. Rose, should we really be doing this?”

Rose raised an eyebrow. “Just a reminder, the baby sleeping upstairs is a result of _this_. Just saying.”

“No. No, not _this_ this.” The Doctor’s hand slipped under her blouse, trailing up and down her spine. “The other this. We are, quite literally, stealing candy from a baby, Rose. _Our_ baby. Our son.”

“He won’t miss one or two.” Rose eyed the array of sweets guiltily before grabbing another. “Or three.”

“Rose. . . .”

“Doctor, he’s an infant. And we’re his parents. We change his nappies and kiss his boo-boos and wake up when he starts crying at two in the morning. We love him unconditionally and, in return, we receive a commission on all goodies, including Halloween candy. It’s in the Parents’ Rulebook somewhere, trust me.”

The Doctor’s mouth twisted in consideration at the same moment that he succeeded in undoing Rose’s bra. His eyes lit up and he let the piece of black lace fall to the floor. “You think?”

“I _know_.” Rose leaned in to kiss him, caught the barest taste of chocolate and caramel on his own tongue. “And don’t you go acting all holier-than-thou, mister. I can taste where this mouth’s been.”

The Doctor smirked.

“Shut up.” But she didn’t miss the guilty frown that settled over his features and her eyes softened. One hand left her back to tug agitatedly at his ear. She put the pilfered candy bars back on the table, snuggling into his chest. “There’ll be plenty of other Halloweens, Doctor.”

“Not his first.” He paused, sniffing deeply; with her head against his chest, Rose could hear his breath hitch. “We should save something. To commemorate it. A piece of candy or . . . yeah, a piece of candy. We can have it framed with a picture of him and it’ll say _James’ First Halloween_. Then we’ll replace it next year with one that says _James’ Second Halloween_.”

Rose could hear the smile in his voice, undoubtedly beaming at his own brilliance, and she tilted her head up to kiss his cheek.

“That sounds fantastic.”

Rose didn’t mention that a two-year-old, never mind a two-year-old with the Doctor’s predilection for nibbles, was unlikely to be amenable to having a piece of candy framed and placed above the mantelpiece. The Doctor’s grin had broadened to encompass not only his own brilliance but every bit of it that this life had to offer: that of their son and Halloween and the two combined which, no matter what crazy equations he may come up with, Rose knew was so much more than the sum of its’ parts. Right now, that was enough.

He squeezed her briefly before his other hand left her back to scrabble across the tabletop, long fingers combing carefully through the pile. He picked up a chocolate bar, eyeing it critically before tossing it back onto the table.

“What was your favorite candy at James’ age?”

“At one? Ehm, I dunno, you’d have to ask Mum. Not right now,” she added as the Doctor became palming his pockets for his mobile. “She’ll be asleep by now.”

“She said we could call anytime!”

“For _emergencies_. Which asking if I preferred Gummi worms or bears as an infant is not.” She reached for his hand, gently loosening his fingers from their death grip around a peanut-butter cup.

“Rose, these are the formative years of our son’s childhood,” the Doctor scolded. “The choice we make tonight could alter the course of his life as we know it.”

“Let’s sleep on it then, yeah?” Still, Rose eyed the candy warily, half-expecting to read James’ future in the foil wrappers. What if he chose candy corn? Pete hated the stuff. Was James destined to have a dysfunctional relationship with his grandfather? “Don’t want to make any hasty - what’s that?” Her hand shot out, quick as a whip, to grab onto something that was decidedly not candy, something hard and plastic and bristly.

“I thought they said he was the cutest thing they’d ever seen.” Rose stared sadly down at the bright red toothbrush in her hand. “You said he was brilliant, Doctor.”

“He was!” The Doctor kissed her nose, her cheek, her chin in quick succession, a feeble attempt at consolation.

“Then who,” said Rose in a voice that trembled with something akin to rage, “would equate our baby boy’s brilliance with a toothbrush?”

“I don’t know.” The Doctor kissed her again but there was fire blazing in his eyes now, too. “I’m sorry, Rose, I just don’t know.”

“Right.” Rose nodded decisively, reaching for her own mobile, punching in the digits with unnecessary force.

“Who are you calling?”

“Torchwood,” Rose replied. “Those bastards messed with the wrong mum.” 


End file.
